1.) Clinical — all the body parts are named — clitoris, penis, vagina — best used in a story where nothing is hidden or shamed. Straightforward.2.) Metaphoric -- sex acts replaced with imagery (reference to the natural world, powerful forces).3.) Euphemism/Colloquial -- use of metaphors and/or cute names (His 'Johnny Jump-up.' Her Buttercup' or His 'Soldier,' Her Maidenhead').4.) Hard Core/Graphic — raunchy, procedural, use of words like 'gash and snake'."

​I don’t remember completing the sex scene writing assignment. And despite ripping apart my file drawers, I couldn’t find my original notes (neither could my former professor, Jo-Ann Mapson, when I asked her for them over a decade after giving that lecture and assignment — no, we cobbled this list together a few weeks ago based on what we both recalled). And I never wrote a novel, even though I started one and abandoned it after 200 pages.

Nearly every writer has to come to terms with the sex scene, because if your characters are alive, they’re having — or at least thinking about having — sex. It's true. You’ll have to describe it if you want believable characters. The point of Jo-Ann’s lecture was this: make sure the style of the scene is indicative of the type of story you are writing.

Years later, she would send me an old yellow quilt -- not particularly well put together, not loved or cared for, but obviously used hard. Maybe like the unknown woman who made it, or laid beneath.

I can’t define the style. It’s hard core, but metaphoric. It’s specific, but oblique. Like the construction of the final piece, the style is layered. ​

But I can tell you this much: it was terrifying to create.

Not the slicing, or the construction or the use of fragile fabrics. Not the time I knew it would take, or all the ways it could go wrong. Not the technical finessing of a sheer border element, or the handwork. ​​

Reverse, detail.

​No. What terrified me was releasing the work into the world and having people assume this character, this actual narrative, was mine.

I don't know why this bothered me so much. It happens to fiction writers all the time — readers assume a writer’s characters are autobiographical, and sometimes they are, but most of the time they aren’t, or at least wholly aren’t. Something similar happens with film actors and the roles they portray. It’s difficult to separate the maker from the made.

For me, the distilled quality of a piece and the choice to make what I make, relies on emotional truth. ​​

Emotional truth is the reason why some non-fiction is better represented as fiction, and why some authors will complete one narrative only to repeat it in another genre (think Alice Sebold).

Sometimes the literal truth is too close to the surface of an idea, and it’s better to poke and prod at that fire from a distance, circling from a point where you watch all the sparks disappear into the night. You sense the full scope of flame. You see how it lights up the surrounding foliage.

​Stand too close to a fire, and you blister your boots.

Wool hand appliqued letters. Each letter took 20 minutes to apply. There are about 80.

“The voice of this cloth is so strong I wanted you to have a piece of it. Amelia was incarcerated in the Detroit House of Correction for killing her abusive husband…” ​— Helen Geglio, Vintage Linen Contributor, Inheritance Project (The 7th box of mystery)​

I thought about Amelia a lot while I worked on this piece. I considered the triangular bit of crocheted tablecloth Helen sent me for theInheritance Project, that washing-machine-bleach-ruined scrap of a once larger work Amelia had made while incarcerated. I thought about calling the piece “Amelia.” I wanted to embed her crochet into the layers. I wanted to tell her story, or it’s myth. But I did none of these things, because every time I sidled up to the flames with my purposeful stick, I singed my arm hair. Amelia’s specific story was not only not my story, but I couldn’t even see what the story was while standing right on top of it.​

So I found a longer stick, and I duct taped another stick to that one, and I whacked the coals from my vantage point somewhere in the trees until I saw the moment, that spark rising and becoming the wisp of a path to the emotional truth: a woman’s breaking point. ​

​Her fatigue threshold.

“In the study of materials — iron, steel, wood, plastic — fatigue refers to a component’s failure after repeated and excessive loads. It is the crumpled beam, the snapped lever, the bowed wall. This piece explores the landscape of women’s work through the use of abandoned cloth, the female form and traditional handwork, to portray the moment before collapse. The burdens are emotional, physical, sexual, literal. We hoard, we discard, we mend, we make do because despite our destruction, some scrap of beauty can always be salvaged.”

"Fatigue Threshold" is about sex. It’s about abuse. It’s about a moment. It’s about a lifetime. It’s about one woman. It’s about all women. It’s about the monotony of tasks and burdens and the domestic realm and exhaustion and birth and life and despair and the slow death of something once precious.

And it is, to me, incredibly beautiful.

Working with old linens is tricky, because focusing on their beauty alone feels nostalgic. The alternative is to destroy them, but that feels self-indulgent and pointless to the work I’m trying to achieve.

I will always strive to balance the beautiful and terrible. It’s hard, and it’s always on my mind.​

I’m one of 85 artists accepted into Quilt National 2017. I’ve never submitted before, but I have 3 hardcover catalogs dating back to 2011, so I’ve been following the exhibition for a long time.

I recently traveled to Athens, Ohio for the exhibition’s opening. I’m incredibly honored to show with such a talented group of artists.

The work will travel until September 2019, so I won’t have this piece for my solo exhibition, which is a shame since it’s an important component to the Inheritance Project. But more people will see it this way, and hopefully they’ll be moved. Maybe they’ll contact me.

If I had to write that sex scene now, at 45 instead of 31 or 32 years old when it was originally assigned, I’d opt for balance. Some raunch, some metaphor, some matter-of-fact language.

Thank you Judy--what a delight and an honor to spend time with you this weekend. I am so bolstered by your incredible work and your kindness. I'm afraid it's going to be too long before I get to see you again, so I'll be holding this weekend at Quilt National close to my heart.
XO
Amy

Congratulations, Amy. Your revelation of one woman's breaking point applies to us all, male and female alike. What keeps some of us on the brink? What sends others into that chasm? Thanks for sharing your talents with the world.

Gay, your name came up several times this weekend and it would have been the cherry on the hootenanny if you'd been at Quilt National with us. Thank you so much for your kind words and for taking the time to read and respond. I'm so happy to call you a friend--
XO
Amy

Heather, thank you for taking the time to read the post and leave a comment. It means a lot.
XO
Amy

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Rhonda

5/27/2017 05:13:15 am

This piece is exactly the kind of work that drew me to your work originally. Very moving and powerful messages and yet, open interpretations still available. Easy to see why Quilt National recognizes your work here.

Rhonda--
Thank you! Yes, I so believe in leaving room for the viewer to have his/her own response to a piece of artwork. I should have mentioned something else about that long stick: you can't open someone's mind if you're beating them over the head with your really good idea.
XO
Amy
ps: you really don't want to see that novel. terrible. just terrible.

As the others have said, such powerful work and beautiful writing. I think part of what makes you so compelling as both artist and writer is that you are not afraid to reveal vulnerabilities. That makes you all the more powerful. Congratulations on Quilt National!

Amy, you have captured so much of women's existence in one work. Very thoughtful and thought provoking. I could see other pieces bordered by "fold the laundry" "cook the meal" "scrub the toilets".
I hope to get to see the exhibit somehow. Congratulations on being in QN and for creating this quilt.

Jeanne--Ah yes. Somehow I think the other household tasks lose the sexiness...although I do like "collect the balled up socks all over the damned place, collect the balled up socks all over the damned place." That one might stick.
XO
Amy

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Madeline Hawley

5/27/2017 06:13:23 am

As others have already said, this is a powerful quilt. It is a quilt
to make one think--it is impressive. I wish I could see it up close, and in person.

Madeline--thank you so much for reading about the work and commenting on it too. As soon as I know more about the Quilt National touring schedule, I will share it here. Perhaps you will have a chance to see it in person some day. I, now, won't see it again until September 2019.
XO
Amy

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Marilyn Waite

5/27/2017 07:05:34 am

Powerful! Congratulations! It is strange but just read about a yellow quilt that was salvaged from a friend with similar yellow and pattern. It was pulled apart and was to be recycled by a writer and quilter. A note...im drawn to art that has depth of meaning, to me its purposeful!. Is this you? Another question: Do you have to be A Nancy Crow student to enter?

Marilyn, Well, it would be strange if there was another artist/writer who had been given a yellow quilt and pulled it apart to make a new, more compelling piece from it. I have a feeling this was the post you read: www.amymeissner.com/blog/yellow-quilt. If you discover, however, that I have a doppelgänger, I want to know about this person.

To answer your last question about eligibility: While Nancy Crow was instrumental in the conception of Quilt National and has done so very much for the development and elevation of the quilt form, it's not a requirement that one has to have taken a class from her. I have not and there were a few other artists there who hadn't either.
XO
Amy

Eleanor,
Thank you so much for your kind note. I appreciate it very much.
XO
Amy

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Sue Kaufman

5/28/2017 08:06:56 am

Bravo and well done! The stoma openings *look* like sex parts to the naked eye, but every living body opening is a stoma, from the tiniest pore of the skin, to an open mouth craving to be fed, to gases being inspired or expelled, the stoma is just right to epitomize all the ways a woman is expected to give, and the seeming futility that endless years of working to meet all the stoma's expectations would surely give rise to. Hungry flowers' stoma make me happy...crying baby stoma makes me agitated. I like it when a quilt makes me think. Thank you, Amy.

Sue,
Damn, I love it when folks make me get out the dictionary. Thank you so much for sharing how you saw this piece and the many ways it spoke to you and your life experience. Yet another layer.
XO
Amy

Robin,
Thank you so much for your encouragement. It means so much. This piece took a long time to make and there were so many times in that process I thought for sure I didn't have the emotional stamina to see it through.
I appreciate your note.
XO
Amy

You made me cry, and I am glad. Thank you from all my younger selves, and on behalf of my mothers and grandmothers. Thank you for writing so movingly about your process and your hesitations, and for making this profound work. As an artist I need certain permissions, and here you are dropping them right in my lap. As always I come away with much to ponder.

Carol,
Thank you so much for your response. You are not the first person who thanked me from their younger self today and this gives ME much to ponder, especially on the days when I feel less youthful. I'm happy to drop permission in your lap, kind of like a puppy with a stick...a really LONG stick. Looking forward to running into you when I return to Anchorage.
XO
Amy

Wow, wow, wow! And that actually happened right there, didn't it? How someone assumed this was your story?! You continue to dazzle me with your articulation of your own process as well as that of womenkind. You are an inspiration to present day women as you raise bright, strong, thoughtful, smart, environmentally conscious children while simultaneously growing yourself into a rising star by creating just spectacular thought-provoking narrative work. I feel so blessed to have crossed paths, spent time with you this weekend and will continue to watch you shine. You go girl! xo

Carol,
Thank you so much for your companionship this weekend and for your compelling work and conversation. I'm honored to have spent time with such a thoughtful artist, and get to call her a good friend now as well.
XO
Amy

Amy, I have had this post on my mind for a couple of days. A woman's breaking point, the power of art, the power of words, the power of ideas. So much emotion and depth, I can't stop thinking about it.

I felt this way after you sent your box of mystery, which contained that scrap of tablecloth and Amelia's story. It felt so important to me, but was such a difficult flame to approach.

Thank you for sharing her story.
XO
Amy

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Carolyn

6/3/2017 08:24:20 am

Your piece made me cry -- sob, actually. And like other women who have posted here, my younger self thanks you -- that girl without a voice and filled with a shame for which she was not responsible. My young woman's heart (beating now in a 63 year old body) thanks you.

Dear Carolyn,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this blog and to comment here, I'm incredibly moved by your response. The "younger self"...this is ringing in my ears because it came up at Quilt National as well in face-to-face conversation. I've been thinking about my own "younger self" and unfortunately, in some ways she was oblivious. All head down and focus. A major shift came after I had children later in life, and maybe it's hormonal (my hair went curly after my second child...which, if you knew her, is totally understandable), but I feel like some part of me looked up and finally got a clue and had to say something relevant. Thank you so much for sharing your connection. I'm blown away by the responses here and elsewhere. I hope you'll re-visit the blog and see what else evolves from the Inheritance Project.
Warmly,
Amy

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Jeannie Bench

6/12/2017 08:09:02 am

This quilt is so powerful. It's power also resides in the narrative of this essay. They're each necessary to the other. I wish every woman in the world could sit quietly with both and dialogue with them together.

Hi Jeannie -- I'm sorry I missed your comment here from last month. Thank you so much for taking the time to read the post and contemplate the work. These things take energy and I'm trying to practice this more with the work of others as well. I look forward to getting to know you better.
XO
Amy

Amy, your work is stunning and I mean that in every sense of the word. It immobilizes the viewer and forces thoughtful consideration. It doesn't get better than that. Thank you for sharing your skills and your thoughts about the work.
Carol invited me to join her to celebrate her work at Quilt National. It wasn't possible. I hope we meet at another venue. Congratulations. I'll be watching your continued success.

Hi Franki,
Thank you for your kind words -- I'm sorry to have missed meeting you in Athens...that was quite a trip. I'm sure we will meet elsewhere out in the world. I appreciate your time reading and commenting here.
XO
Amy

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Amy Meissner

Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.​